Order in the Court!
by Pollux Unbound
Summary: And Grimmjow says, "I'm filing a complaint against Cuatro Espada.", to which Aizen asks, "What seems to be the problem?". Grimmjow then growls at Ulquiorra, "Sexual harassment, that's what." UlquiGrimm GrimmUlqui SzayelStark Ulquiorra's POV
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Bleach; genius Kubo Tite does.

**A/N**: The lines in bold font are Ulquiorra's dialogs, meaning he's saying them aloud. Curses everywhere, so minors, stay away. ;)

It's quite a wonder how far I rise above everything else that exists here in this barren wasteland. I pass along these halls which are too decayed for my presence as the beings with whom I coexist relapse to silence upon the sight of me. I am a wonder. I am a star beyond the scope of their visions. I maybe am a god. Now I hear a voice assault my quiet stroll. I reckon—

"Calling on all the Espada. Please proceed to the Convention Hall."

I embark myself to where I am currently needed, but when I slither my way inside an estranged silence greets me. We, the Espada, are limited to one form of existence only; we live for Aizen-sama's purposes. However close together we stand our hearts are all far adrift from one another. Of course, this simply means we are balanced in separation. Indeed, we are—

"Welcome, Espada. I called you here today to announce the expansion of our family. From here on, Wonderwice Margera shall dine with us, convene with us, and interact with us." Aizen-sama announces.

I glance at the faces all around me, whereupon I find that some of them are harboring what appears to be a deep loathing towards the new family member. For instance, here are Jiruga and Jaggerjack. There lifts from them some sort of a murderous hatred which, for me, is not in any way applicable to the situation. If reason were involved—

"Now, I ask all of you to maintain a warm attitude toward him and be civil." Aizen-sama resumes his talk.

Civility. Frankly, he's used the word more loosely than he realizes. But then Aizen-sama barely has the time to mull over shallow matters. What he always does is relay his messages/requests/orders to us and leave us to our own devices. Having said that, among the ten Espada I strongly believe I'm the only one—

"Now that it's been said and done, and I surmise you've all agreed with the matter at hand, I'd like to give the honor of speech to Grimmjow Jaggerjack here who's quite having a concern about something. Grimmjow, please speak of it now." Aizen-sama is really merciful.

Sexta Espada, for his part, stands up in an almost barbaric abruptness. Looking at him, I can sense the innate incongruity of his manners against natural order. For one thing,he has this fiery—

"I'm filing a complaint against _Cuatro_ Espada."

Going back to his attributes, the only thing that can be said in his favor is…come again? Did I just hear that right? Well, perhaps I was imagining—

"What seems to be the problem?" Aizen-sama inquires.

"Sexual harassment, that's what. I'm NOT shutting my trap till I get justice. This bitch has to go down."

Excuse me? Why is he pointing an accusing finger at me? Why is he glaring at me menacingly as though I've done a mighty offense against him? More importantly, what was he trying to imply when he mentioned sexual—

"I see. Well, then, Ulquiorra Scheiffer, would you like to say anything in your defense or would you confirm Sexta Espada's accusation?" Lieutenant Tousen asks me.

As things are, some unknown weight fastens around my tongue. To be sure, I'm quite accustomed to other Arrancar rising in opposition against my favorable disposition in Aizen-sama's eyes. However, this whole affair now is entirely foreign to my experience. And so among my wide range of vocabulary and my overreaching intellect, I can only grope for one word that suits my sentiments very precisely—

"**Bullshit."**

That's not exactly what I have in mind. I could've produced something more eloquent and fashionable like 'preposterous' or 'absurd'. Well, I guess there's always—

"Bullshit my ass. You fucking ripped my Hakama and jacket to ashes last night to get a shot at me. Deny it and I'll fucking blast your ass right here right now."

Why, Grimmjow must have acquired some terminal brain damage from his habitual propensity of immersing himself in activities of infamous descriptions. To clarify matters, what really happened last night was—

"Ulquiorra Scheiffer, would you like to expound your previous statement?" Tousen asks again.

"**Grimmjow Jaggerjack is clearly deranged."**

"You know what, Ulquiorra Scheifucker? Please die. Your fucking horsing-around's are killing me! You had me on a fucking Cero-point last night, and for that reason alone I couldn't _fucking_ push you away—"

"—Grimmjow, please calm down. This is not the proper manner of resolving this matter. Please know that this whole thing will have to undergo a thorough investigation, so I will now ask you to be patient as we assemble the necessary considerations." Tousen explains.

"**Grimmjow Jaggerjack is in dire need of medical assistance, specifically a psychiatric treatment, and immediate recovery."**

Grimmjow is now panting heavily in succession for no apparent reason. Personally speaking, he really has to do something about that temper of his—

"Fuck you! Grimmjow Jaggerjack has been defenselessly ravaged, helplessly molested, and abjectly cornered by a Sexta Espada-raping son of a gun whose name is Ulquiorra Scheiffer!" Sexta Espada screams at me.

"**That's wishful thinking, Grimmjow."**

He subdues. Contrary to what he has been doing for the last five minutes, he is at the moment staring at me with that indecipherable expression of his. I, on the other hand, can only conjure vague conjectures of what he's fuming about—

"Why. Would. I. Fucking. Wish. You. Were. Harassing. Me? You're one twisted fucker of a pervert in need of imprisonment—aaaargh!—you lying son of a gun—why the fuck am I still alive?—"

"—we do not tolerate that kind of language under this roof, Grimmjow."

It's Aizen-sama. To be completely honest here, it's taken him quite a time to intervene. But I'll express my gratitude nonetheless should I be permitted—

"Ulquiorra Scheiffer, Grimmjow Jaggerjack, we will be conducting a hearing tomorrow morning, and by that time I expect both of you to have a lawyer each. You may choose among your Espada brothers. For now, you are dismissed." Tousen duly informs us.

Sexta Espada is furious. It would've been an understatement to assume that his inclination to ruthlessness was not in any way expanding or growing more prominent as we scoot away from the hall, away from the Disciplinarians' detection. Naturally, I keep my wary distance in case—

"Sexta-chan, would you like me to be your attorney? I'll make you win. And then we can invent punishments for Cuatro-chan!" Octava Espada tells Grimmjow. I can't imagine what greatness of imagination he's currently employing, much less detect where this childish excitement over a candid impossibility is rooting from. Perhaps Szayel has yet to realize—

"Piss off. Stark ain't gonna look at you even if you make the best damn attorney in the universe." answers the petulant Grimmjow.

"But who would you rather have for a prosecutor? Halibel is too busy, you hate Zomart Le Roux, Noveno Espada hates you, Stark-chan is so hard to push, Yammy is ugly, Bargan is uglier, Quinto-chan is as dumb as you—"

"—what did you fucking say, you fucking aspiring bitch?"

"I'm THE catch. I'm available, I work hard for the money and I'll make you win. And then we can split the punishment decision among us two. What do you say?" Szayel suggests brightly.

"Fucking fine. But if you're just doing this to show-off to Stark I ma blast your Octava ass to oblivion."

"See you tomorrow at the Justicia Hall!"

I turn to a corner as I hear Sexta and Octava's footsteps die away to distant echoes. Oddly enough, the hallways are engulfed in infinite darkness, a darkness that plunges into my mind... I realize I DON'T have an attorney. I can ask around but, surely, that would cost me quite an amount of dignity—

I bump into something—someone.

"Watch it."

I recognize Stark's deep voice.

"**Pardon me."** I answer. Conjuring a tiny Cero from my hand to serve as light, I resume my departure. It now dawns on me that my deep musings are ALWAYS interrupted by insignificant proclamations of the creatures with whom I share the—

"**Please be my attorney, Stark."**

I've just said the unthinkable. I stand there, unnerved by the thought of asking anyone's assistance. To top it off, this person is not just anyone; he's Stark, a top-ranking Espada, for crying out loud. Additionally, he barely shows enthusiasm over ANYTHING; not that I'm one to talk, but I guess—I guess desperation is catching up on—

"Why should I? Everyone knows your current obsession is to gain access inside Grimmjow's pants."

What an infantile behavior. I can only guess what took ascendency in this fellow Espada's mind to hurl such inflammatory invectives at me. Now perhaps is the time to start pitying the deluded public and their poisoned thoughts.

"**If you consent I'll have Szayel's private chamber transferred to the East wing tower; that's more than a hundred hallways from yours."**

Hah! For starters, the power of persuasion lies in one's cunningness. I happen to be Resident Inspector here in Las Noches, which basically means I control room assignments.

"Whatever. Don't wake me up too early tomorrow."

"**I am indebted to you." **

He wheels around and descends on a flight of stairs to his basement chamber. Taking a hint, I take my ascent to the West Wing Tower, where my room is. AMong other things, I'm sure to have a good sleep tonight.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

How puzzling. I couldn't manage to sleep decently last night. Whatever the reason is, it can wait—

"Calling on Grimmjow Jaggerjack, Ulquiorra Scheiffer, and their respective attorneys; please proceed to the Justicia Hall immediately."

With what gracefulness and swiftness of movement I am blessed with I make haste to the basement to fetch Stark, all the while employing my brilliant Sonido. Upon knocking on Stark's door I am greeted by a complete absence of response. Well, I guess I'll make do with no attorney. After all, I've always stood alone…I stand alone.

In no time, I emerge into the Justicia Hall to find Grimmjow and Szayel seated on the prosecutor's desk. To my utter surprise, however, Stark is lounging at the defense attorney's chair. As there's no room for unnecessary queries, I merely nod apologetically, if only to express my disapproval against my own inexcusable detainment—

"We shall now commence the hearing. Prosecutor, please state your complaint briefly." Tousen starts. He is, by the way, the Chief Justice Official around here, so it only follows that he will be the judge of this case—lawsuit.

The other Espada are occupying the Jury stand. Lieutenant Gin is among the spectators which basically comprise the Fracciones. As for Aizen-sama, he is nowhere to be seen.

To preside over the case, Szayel stands up and clears his throat before throwing Stark a bemused glare. Well, if he's trying to seduce my attorney—

"I hereby disclose the nature of the complaints of my client, Grimmjow Jaggerjack, who is ranked sixth among the Espada, against Ulquiorra Scheiffer, Cuatro Espada, who allegedly performed some malicious, if not exactly hideous, actions towards said client. The major offense, aka final straw, took place two nights prior, according to my client, in said client's chamber where Cuatro Espada performed the material fulfillment of his sexual urges over him."

In rare occasions, derogative statements such as these tend to veil the truth in certain accusations. In Szayel's case, he came in rather more ardently than required that his bias thinking manifests fairly transparently—

"Does the defendant plead guilty or not guilty?" Tousen asks.

Stark stares at me. It seems as though he knows not how to answer the question he's obligated to. Slowly, I become horrified by the realization that Stark and I have made not the slightest of preparations for this hearing. How could I have been so erratic? This is such a menial task that I so mindlessly neglected—

"Not guilty." Stark says.

"Well, then, I am awarding the first interrogation to the prosecutor. Szayel Apollo Grantz, please call on your first witness."

Szayel conducts himself to the open floor and nods at Lieutenant Tousen. "May I call on Yammy, Ulquiorra Scheiffer's Fracciones—"

"—when the fuck did I become a Fraccion?" Yammy bursts forth heatedly. Indeed, the information Szayel has spoken out loud was erroneous, perhaps even defamatory. Why, he mistook an Espada for a Fraccion, consequently and instantly marring his own reliability—

"Oh. I'm sorry. My mistake. In any case, please take the witness stand." Octava proceeds. And so Yammy is left with no option but to occupy the empty seat grudgingly. Szayel speaks again, "Yammy, you are reputed to be quite close with the defendant, Cuatro Espada. Can you—"

"—Objection your honor. I don't believe Yammy and Ulquiorra's relationship can, in any way, be considered as close. As you all here are very well aware, there's no bond of friendship or any form attachment that connects us all Espada together. If anything, mentioned closeness is equivalent to mere physical proximity and nothing more." Stark snips through. It then becomes apparent that Szayel is forced to marvel at my lawyer's execution of reason.

"Sustained."

Octava grins. The indefatigable moron; just what's so funny—

"Let me rephrase that. Yammy here and Ulquiorra have gone on several missions together. I used the word 'close' in a literal sense, as implied by Stark. Moving on, I will ask you now, Frac—Diez Espada; two nights ago you arrived here in Hueco Mundo from a mission in the human world WITH Ulquiorra Scheiffer, did you or did you not?"

"Yeah."

"And when you touched down here in Las Noches, where did you go straight to?"

"My room."

"Would you happen to know where Cuatro Espada went straight to?"

Yammy, the blithering idiot, starts to look around nervously, unable, it seems, to emit another sound—

"I wouldn't know."

"But isn't your room adjacent to his?"

"Yes."

"Did you see him enter his room before you entered yours?"

"No. He probably went off inspecting the corridors."

"But that night was a Tuesday. On Tuesdays, Lieutenant Gin is responsible for corridor patrolling. I'm asking you again, did you or did you not see him enter his room?"

"No."

"No further questions, your honor." Szayel curtsies elegantly. He goes back to his chair and there Grimmjow slaps his palm against his; a sort of triumphant gesture, if I may be warranted a guess. Frankly, I can't quite locate the source of their satisfaction; why, the facts that Yammy has just exposed translate to...nothing.

"Okay. Defendant, would you like to introduce a new witness or would you opt to keep Yammy for further inquiries?" Tousen asks Stark.

Stark scratches his hair, an indication of some inconvenience—

"I'll ask Yammy to sit tight."

"Arck." Diez Espada grunts in dismay. To be fair, I'd probably do the same if I were asked to remain seated in such an uncompromising position—

"Well, Yammy," Stark starts, "Since you've been dubbed to be in amicable terms with my client here, I'll ask you—this query is rather subjective since the answer will depend on your personal judgment—;do you think Ulquiorra Scheiffer here is capable of possessing, or should I say 'developing', sexual tendencies?"

Well, if this is meant as an insult to my emotional capacity, I should say it—

"Oh come on, Stark, you can't be asking me that shit!"

"Answer it now, Undecimo Espada."

"It's fucking Diez Espada, dammit! What the hell is wrong with you bastards?"

"Sorry. Now if you please, my question…"

"Cheh. Well, he's an ice cube; that's given. I mean, them whores, Mila Rose, Lolly, and Melony, are like practically throwing their bodies at him—and he wouldn't bat a friggin' eye, know what I mean?"

Mentioned Fracciones blush in their cheeks. Now that I think on it, I remember these females having asked me on more than ten occasions to join them in their activities. The reason why I simply choose not to associate myself with such low-grade specimens is—

"That's because he's a freaking faggot."

It's Grimmjow Jaggerjack. This is not the first time he's made a blunder out of himself by proclaiming an atrocious idea. Furthermore, I can't even say he said that with certainty. For all everyone knows, he's either lying or is talking nonsense. What's worse is that, once again, the responsibility of correcting him is delegated to me—

"I'm giving you a first warning, Sexta Espada. If you don't behave accordingly I will have to acquit Cuatro Espada." Tousen warns sharply before turning to my lawyer, "Stark, please resume."

"So, Yammy, what you're trying to say is, Cuatro Espada here is an uptight person and is incapable of indecency, and attesting to that is your personal testimony to his disinclination to temporal pleasures, is that it?"

Diez Espada flinches and glances around guardedly. "As far as I know, he's just not the type who'd undress anyone coercively unless Aizen-sama ordered him to or _great necessity_ called for it."

"Good. So, lastly, I ask you the one-million dollar question; do you think what Grimmjow's saying is true?"

By all accounts the answer is 'no'. It makes me think, why must we undergo this inconvenient necessity when one simple word can decide it all? 'No' is the answer—

"Yes."

There you have it; the bare… pardon me? What exactly is happening? Why did the answer turn out to be a complete reversal of the truth? Why, this can't be anything other than an abysmal failure to comply with reality, and, worse, this is neither necessary nor correct. In fact, a mistake of such magnitude is not excusable even for one accidental second—

"Pardon me?" Stark asks, looking thoroughly wiped out.

"Yes. I think Grimmjow's telling the truth."

"But you have just earlier made affirmative the statement that Ulquiorra Scheiffer is not the type of Arrancar who'd persecute lewd overtures on anyone—"

"—unless Aizen-sama ordered him to OR great necessity called for it. Come on, man, he's had it goin' on for Grimmjow for donkey years now. And I think that falls under great necessity."

Just what is fueling this mass hatred against me? Has the world come down to such degradation? If not then the world can still perhaps be salvaged from its impending ruin! By god, my fellow Espada, the one whom I deem closest to me, has spoken in such a liberally antagonistic fashion against me! While this has inconvertibly tainted our formerly sublime relationship, it's also possible—

Stark clears his throat with a strenuous effort, "But these—these donkey years of longing, as you put it—do they all fully account for an accusation of such volume? Is 'harassment' the appropriate term for it?"

"I dunno what ELSE you'd call it, Stark."

Suddenly, just like that, everyone is forging alliances with imbecility. The truth, as I see it now, has degenerated into a negligible idea. Pity. So now Stark starts to pace up and down the floor, his thinking seemingly clogged by heavy worries, for reasons more or less visible. If a good counter attack ever makes its way to his mind I must say he truly is deserving of being Primera Espada. Bad luck has rounded on me quite abundantly and—

"**Fuck this."**

"..."

I've said it aloud. They're staring at me, stunned.

Tousen clears his throat, "I'm giving you a first warning, Cuatro Espada; do not interrupt. Now, Stark, please go ahead."

"Donkey years, you say, Yammy?"

I must note that my lawyer appears to have regained his former mood.

"Yeah. Goes back way beyond last year…and the year before that…and the year before that one…and, nah, you get my drift, don't ya?"

Here is Yammy again, speaking with so complete an absence of regard for propriety. As expected I have about as much anger in me now as I am entitled to feel, and I can just employ my Cero skills at Diez Espada. Even granted he is under the influence of some sorcery I remain feeling as though all he seeks to gain at the moment is my abhorrence and my indignity. But now Stark is rubbing his chin in an inhibited fascination. And then he sinks under the tide of his amusement and begins to smile as if what Yammy has just said parallels with something altogether inconsequential and inadequate—

"Conventionally speaking, these plain facts suggest that there has been a long-running clash between Sexta and my client here. If that is indeed the case isn't all this reconciliatory to the idea, if not the _fact_, that Grimmjow had overstepped his own patience by taking too long to report the alleged trespassing? But Sexta Espada and patience don't quite get along. In fact, he's more inclined to resort to violence than to have his troubles sorted out in a formal and peaceful manner." Stark pauses and retracts his gaze to the set of jury. He continues, "Can you now see the truth I have just made out of my assumption? If not, well, hear this; patience has NO place in mischief. Yes, it is _true _that two nights ago something out of the ordinary happened in Grimmjow Jaggerjack's private chamber. And that something, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, was _consensual sexual intercourse_."

Stark tilts his head to Sexta's direction. As he does so I can't quite deny how much his austerity soothes me. Yes, his confidence is something you won't witness in one lifetime, while his intelligence has hitherto revealed the limitations of mere commonsense. Apart from those, his reverence further diversifies the reactions of the crowd; some look up at him in awe, some eye him fearfully…

...but someone's glare defies description…

"Stark. You can just fucking die _now_."

Grimmjow Jaggerjack has risen to his feet with murderous intents channeling through him.

**TBC**

**A/N: **I'm no law student so I dunno a shit about courtroom ethics and the rest of the general procedures. Let's just say this is how they do it in Las Noches. Yaaaaah Kaesaku! How're ya lately? ;)


	3. Chapter 3

I look at Octava Espada and in his face is a distinct suffering from some irretraceable origin. And then there's Sexta Espada who's huffing with an unquantifiable savagery. With the way things are going, pity is rigorously finding its way to me. How unfortunate these creatures are to cross paths with me? I'll carry my predilections to as far as saying that all is in favor of my name—

"I'd like to summon Lieutenant Ichimaru Gin to the witness stand." Szayel declares, finally regaining his calm amidst the crisis.

Lieutenant Gin sidles up the designated seat, wearing his honest to god disreputable grin. Octava speaks again, perhaps in the hopes of unearthing something that can be of any assistance to him. Frankly, hope has long since abandoned him; from the moment—

"Lieutenant Gin, were you or were you not in charge with the corridor inspection on the night in question?" Szayel starts.

"Yes." No sooner than his word got said that he cracks another grin, effectively inviting quite a handful of anticipation from the crowd.

"On that note, it must mean you were responsible for securing the Espada's return to their private chambers before the curfew struck. Am I right?"

"So right, Apollo-chan."

"But to be able to fulfill this duty you must first ensure that we are all tucked into our chambers."

"Yeeeaaahhh. You're so sharp, Octava-chan."

"If that's the case, when you checked on Cuatro Espada's room, did you happen to find him there?"

"Naaaahhhhh. He slipped off somewhere else." His answer swirls across the crowd like a strong wind that turns over everything it sweeps on. Grabbing his chance, Octava recollects his breath before doubling up. And then he smiles a smile which isn't inconsequential, "Where was he?"

Lieutenant frowns, as if the answer is getting dimmer in his memory, "Waaaah Szayel-chan, I thought we've already established it here that he was in Grimmjow-chan's room? I saw it _myself, _ya know."

Well. I implore you to wait for it; there's something more to this, I assure you. But presently an ominous collection of whispers is passing on from tongue to tongue. It is here that I realize things aren't going fast enough for me. It's true I was in Sexta Espada's room but, as what my brilliant lawyer has declared, the whole affair was—

"So, since you beat me into saying it, what did you find in Grimmjow Jaggerjack's room when you surveyed it?"

Lieutenant Gin starts giggling so uncontrollably that it's becoming increasingly difficult to keep my eyes fastened on him. Jesus, I didn't subscribe to this whole hearing procedure just to tolerate such juvenile behavior—

"Cuatro-chan was there."

The crowd really needs to be pacified. I can hear murmurings here and there, and the sound is speckling the air with weight. So what if I was there? If only they knew that Grimmjow and I were—

"What was he doing there?" Szayel asks Gin. Grimmjow looks away.

"Scheiffer-chan was being a naughty little Espada."

Now here's a figure of authority who falls notably short in the logic department. Me? Naughty? Please. I surmise a strange culture has contaminated Las Noches; why, everyone seems to be wholly lacking in sound judgment these days! This is revolting! And finally, to make matters worse, something issues from the mouths all around me; I can tell from here that their lips are full of inaccurate speculations. Degenerates.

"How so?"

Lieutenant readjusts his legs before propelling a perfunctory glance towards me.

"He set Sexta-chan's closet on fire while the latter was hitting the showers."

Honestly, I can hardly guess what's setting this lot's ignorance loose. Because the sensation the information has summoned is plainly exaggerated they're now mumbling as though something grave has occurred! What my intelligence begets is, Lieutenant Gin's statement has no value unless it's truthful! And, of course, it was untruthful, of all things! What I simply did was—

"And for what purpose, Lieutenant Gin, do you think, did Cuatro Espada commit such despicable act?"

"Yaaaaah Apollo-chan, think of it _this _way: Sexta-chan was taking a shower so he was butt-naked, aye? So if _someone_ wanted him to _stay _butt-naked all he had to do was to make all Grimmjow's clothes burst into flames! Yaaaay."

This has. without a question, far exceeded my worst nightmare. Nightmares aside, the crowd is amplifying my discomfort. Indeed I can now claim that this has established an imperfection in my life in all aspects, what with even Lieutenant Gin conspiring against me and endorsing a fraudulent story—

"**Fucking liar."**

"..."

I shouldn't have uttered that above a whisper. Everyone curses from time to time, so why is everyone throwing me this petrified gaze?

"Cuatro Espada, for the second time; do not interrupt and watch your mouth. Szayel, please resume." Tousen reprimands before nodding at Octava, his sternness not diminishing, though.

Octava turns to Lieutenant, "And can I take your word for it? That Ulquiorra Scheiffer did set Grimmjow's closet aflame to grant him access to my client's nakedness?"

Nakedness? If that was all I was after I could have just simply flicked my finger conveniently, instead of going over his goddamn wardrobe chest—

"Bingo, Octava-chan."

"No further questions, your honor."

Silence. Silence distorts even more quickly than words. I've always been in good terms with it, but now I can just trade it for anything—

"Defendant, please call on your next witness."

"Of course." Is Stark's natural reply. Looking at him, some confident reassurance wells up in me. "I'd like to call on Grimmjow Jaggerjack."

Oh, the villain, the assailant of everything that's peaceful. Life is bad enough without him sitting on the witness stand, and now he's off to perform a train of long-winding lies and delusions that'll stain my very reputation. I cannot allow this, I will not. To my indignation, he throws a fatal scowl at my attorney as he hunkers on to the stand, to finally sinkto a seat in a disagreeable posture.

Stark commences, "Do you concur with everything Lieutenant Gin said?"

"Yeah."

"If so, how did you manage to get a replacement for your wardrobe in such a scant amount of time if they REALLY did burn?"

Grimmjow's expression shifts from derision to utter blankness.

"If you haven't been noticing that this shit I'm wearing now is ten sizes too large for me, not to mention that it's infallibly identical to the one Yammy is wearing, perhaps you can just poke on your goddamn eye sockets and check if they're not fucking empty."

That explains why something seems different. Anyway,

"Oh. Well, Grimmjow Jaggerjack, to start this all up, why don't you narrate your side of the story?"

A frightening feeling solidifies around me. It's because lies are pummeling their way to a place where they shouldn't be at all events; this is the Hall of Justice—

"As I have over and over again made a fucking docile story-teller of myself already, it happened two nights ago when I was taking a goddamn shower. And then, all of a fucking sudden, some wardrobe arsonist reduced all my goddamn clothes to fucking ashes. So when I smelled the goddamn smoke I went outta the bath with a towel around my waist. There I found Cuatro Fucker here standing over what remained of my precious clothes, looking like a total fucker who was off to snatch the goddamn tiny towel off my waist. And snatch the goddamn tiny towel he did."

That's some wonderful rendition of the story; so colorful and modified in fact that Noveno Espada and Lilineth are all jittery with laughter. I say fuck this—

"Really, Grimmjow? And in defense, what did you do?" The corners of Stark's lips are travelling farther up his cheeks. However, I see no potential fascination for me in the direction he's steering the interrogation to.

"How the hell do you pull on a defensive stance when you have one arm securing a towel, to keep your balls and cock sheltered, and the other groping around for your Zanpakotou which picked the most gorgeous time to be _missing_?"

"So in short, you didn't resist?"

"I couldn't fucking push him away, okay? Is that too hard to understand? Someone stole my fucking Pantera."

"But what exactly was he doing to you?"

I wish Stark wouldn't ask that but then he just did. I'm facing abject humiliation right now—

"He was trying to get a _go _on me, okay? I thought I've made myself clear enough here?"

"So when he finally got rid of the towel and you had determined that your Zanpakotou was missing, you had by then realized that you had two free arms to defend yourself, therefore granting you the opportunity to employ your generally acknowledged brilliance in martial arts, hadn't you? I mean, you could've resorted to your Cero too."

"Yeah but due to events beyond my control, I could NOT. Events like he had me on a fucking Cero-point that one wrong move and my face would be beyond saving. Jesus, just give it up already. Just fucking cross-examine your bastard of a client already."

Grimmjow is exhibiting in relentless profusion his religious passion for barbarity for the entire world to see. _Pitiable_.

"Okay. One last question. How long has Ulquiorra been pulling this sort of mischief on you? Rather how many times?"

"Countless. Twenty? Frankly, I've lost count. Perhaps it has reached a number beyond reckoning. Now are you done? I wanna get off this shit already."

Stark does not answer. Instead, he casts a pensive glance at me as if reflecting on some bizarre matter. If you ask me, he should've known better than prolonging this fiasco. For one thing, he can just dismiss Sexta now—

"Right. And all those times you never once thought of, say, locking your door? Or had you been always awaiting a friendly visit from Cuatro? Or perhaps a more-than-friendly _welcomed _one?"

The commotion in the hall is growing too much for me as it has already been too much for all of us. Stark, I must admit, really knows how to make a scene in ways that matter, and oh if he only knew how much his predatory aura adds to the collective reaction there would be no need to pause for effect. Buthere is Grimmjow Jaggerjack again, wanting to do such a million mess with his curses and undying banters—

"Well, fuck that. We have friggin' padlocks for friggin' locks whose complexity of mechanism takes us about two hours to fucking secure, and whose cheap quality gives as no more than two friggin' seconds to destroy, goddamit! And who the hell are ya to talk anyway? Are your friggin' door locks keeping Grantz from fucking sneaking in your room at night?"

"Calm down, Jaggerjack. Stark, are you going to continue this thread of interrogation?" Tousen intercepts.

Stark looks around at me. Grimmjow's unprecedented reply doesn't quite lead us to a clearing of any sort—

"Yeah, just one more, your honor." He turns to Sexta Espada, this time with eyes filled with underlying aggression of all intents and purposes, "Grimmjow Jaggerjack, what the _fuck _were you thinking when you just about left your _friggin' _Zanpakotou lying idly somewhere while you took a bath? Granted that you had in fact experienced such episodes with Ulquiorra before, shouldn't you have been more inclined to safe-guarding your _goddamn _crotch? If so, why the unthinking disregard to lurking dangers? It was as easy as keeping your weapon beside you all the _fucking _time—"

"—wait a damn second, Stark. How the fuck do you expect me to bathe myself with my Zanpakotou belt still buckled around my goddamn—"

"—if you had been _earnestly _concerned about your body, or should I say purity, you'd have somehow realized that parting with your weapon opens up a new set of threats and dangers—"

"—that's just friggin' paranoia, particularly the type that can be concocted by a friggin' shithead like _you—"_

"—paranoia it is, call it whatever you like, but this goddamn strategy has more than once saved my goddamn tits from being ravaged by your friggin' attorney—"

"—well fuck that. Only a moron Espada would take a friggin' bath in his fucking released form. I ain't psycho enough to pull something as stupid as that—"

"—well, what has clearly been established here is that Grimmjow _hasn't _experienced enough distress to equate with him being thoroughly careful and alert about his own safety. It _fucking _follows that my client, Ulquiorra Scheiffer, did not, in any way, occasion him difficulty or travesty of any form seeing that Sexta Espada had CONSCIOUSLY failed to prop up anything for his protection which was, by the way, a very minor task. Shouldn't Ulquiorra's alleged trespasses have served as warnings to him? Apparently, they haven't. Seriously, how hard is it to prevent someone from trying to rape you when you're practically the sixth strongest soldier in here? For all we know, no one has tried to molest you, at least not Ulquiorra Scheiffer."

Stark is being NOT Stark. I don't know what got him so worked up like this but I'm thankful anyway.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

Stark now startlingly resembles his release form; not that I'm disturbed by the thought. His recently acquired speech fashion, however, baffles me. To say the least, it does not at all accord with the dormant slacker that he is. Whatever the case is, we have the upper hand.

"What the hell crept up your ass? He's _fourth_; I'm fucking _sixth_." Grimmjow growls at my attorney, eyes popping wide.

Stark ignores him. "No further questions, Lieutenant."

"Grimmjow, you may relieve the stand of your weight now." Lieutenant says.

Grimmjow storms off the area in heavy treads, his face still fastened on my attorney, in the interest of perhaps extending his murderous intents on him. As if.

Szayel scuds up front, looking as though he knows not what to make of the matter presently at hand. I recommend he forfeit this already—

"I'd like to call on Lilineth, Stark's Fracciones." Octava announces.

Stark makes an unbidden movement beside me. He wheels his head around to watch the entrance of his pesky little sidekick. Resentfully drinking in the sight as Lilineth flashes him a peace sign, a harrowing display of childish misdemeanor and mental deficiency as a matter of fact, he knits his brows—

"Yoh, Espada dudes!" The Fraccion greets as she occupies the seat.

"Lilineth, I shall make this quick for your convenience." Szayel assures her. He then winks at our direction. But a murmur issues from everywhere when he advances to their desks and fetches Pantera, Grimmjow Jaggerjack's Zanpakotou. Drawing the magnificent weapon up at the witness's eye level, he questions the little girl, "Are you familiar with this?"

Lilineth giggles in a rapid succession, to which Stark yawns. Nevertheless, I ask him,** "And will you tell me what your Fraccion has got to do with all this?"**

"Who knows? She's an idiot. Whatever she's bound to say isn't gonna be of any consequence."

So now his Fraccion is eyeing Pantera longingly. Yet, all the same, a surfeit of delight overwhelms her, "Pantera! I love that! Can I _keep _it?"

"No. But I ask you, did you or did you not get a hold of this lovely thing two nights ago?" Szayel pursues.

Shit.

I remember. It was Lilineth whom I bribed to nick Grimmjow's weapon on that night. But I only did that so he wouldn't try to murder me, no more, no less. It was plain self-defense, and I can prove it here and now if I may be allowed to venture on it and if no one is to dissuade—

"**Fucking shit."**

"..."

Fucking shit. My excuse for this exhibition of vocal carelessness goes as plain as that panic has borne down on me more swiftly than I could deny it residence. Naturally, I am, again, the victim of unbelieving gazes.

Tousen sighs, "Cuatro Espada, I'm asking you this for the first and last time; are you alright?"

I nod.

"Octava Espada, please repeat your question for the witness."

"Lilineth, did you or did you not get a hold of Pantera two nights ago?"

"Yaaaaah! Cuatro-san said I could _play _with it!"

Again, the air is stultified by these mumblings which are so confounded in nature that anyone can recognize the obvious distaste among their originators. Needless to say the absurdity of this all has gone beyond the insufferable, there appears to be the necessity to unravel the truth here and now! The truth is—

"So you took it? Played with it without the owner's permission, culprit?"

The fucking truth is—

"But Cuatro-sama said I could take it! And I placed it back where I found it after playing with it! Besides, I didn't need permission because Ulquiorra-sama is Cuatro while Grimmjow-sama is just Sexta, you know."

"I see. Well then, I'll let you off now. No further questions, your honor."

Stark is staring at me. I'll hazard to accept my unthinking carelessness has frustrated his plans. But most damning of all is the manner by which my operation was revealed. If somehow—

"That doesn't cover your allotted time. Would you like to call another witness or shall I pass the opportunity to the opposing side?" Tousen asks Szayel.

"I would like to call Ulquiorra Scheiffer."

I'm staring helplessly at Stark as nefarious eyes drill in on us. And now Szayel is hoisting himself in front of our table, grinning at my attorney. What a pointless exhibition of audacity. If only I were allowed to punish lower-ranking comrades he'd realize how wise it would be to just rest content in maintaining his distance from us top of the ranks—

"Please proceed now, Cuatro Espada." Tousen says.

I evacuate my seat and arrange my composure in due proportion. I then take long strides to the stand, producing soft thuds against the floor.

"So, Cuatro-san," Szayel starts in what I classify as forced cordiality, "What was your purpose in coming into Sexta Espada's private chamber two nights prior?"

I gaze at Stark again, only to learn he can't return the gaze with equal ease, let alone give me a mute reassurance. We're looking at each other, mutually declaring helplessness and nothing else. It appears time and circumstance have disappointed me. To complicate things, this whole tragedy requires more than an open mind and an unbiased standpoint to be grasped in its barest sense; don't they know that Grimmjow and I are sailing into the direction of romance and—

"**Sex."**

I—perhaps I should offer a more sophisticated elaboration on that one. Sex, after all, is _sacred, _and the execution of which should have a profound style and should break away from convention. You do understand, don't you? If I were just to head straight to Grimmjow's chamber and demand 'let's have sex', well, that would just obliterate the thrill—

"So you admit that you stripped my client here of all his defenses before you went on performing your sexual fantasies on him?" Szayel asks in trepidation, looking somewhat appalled by what my statement suggests. In contrast, the crowd is unmoving, still and silent with ponderous apprehension; only Grimmjow's disgusted face betrays it. Well, if I could insist on my rights to clarify the whole of this—

"**Yes."**

Allow me to say that I am presently _scarcely_ in control of my speech, and attesting to that is what reality is presenting. With that at hand, my confidence wanes from here. All I wanted was to add color and beauty to my sex life, an aim which the people around me perceive as one and the _same _with sexual offending. If they could just devote sensibility in this whole matter they'd understand it without fail—

"But Grimmjow did verbally resist you, didn't he? By cursing you off shitless, yet you still persevered on your advances. Just what the hell is the matter with you?"

"**That's the whole point of it, Szayel. It would be vastly boring if he were just to submit to me before I even tried." **

Octava is staring at me as though I have driven some calamitous affliction in his direction. He truly is not the genius I've been warned about. So he fidgets about, looking certain about absolutely nothing, least of all himself—

"Ulquiorra, you do understand that what you're saying now can be used _against _you and that you are facing serious charges of sexual assault, which you so now admit without inhibitions." Szayel tells me, looking at me square in the face, perhaps implying I'd be the last to digest his words. Fool.

"**Sexual assault? I was merely thriving to ****expand my sexual horizons****. If you don't understand such then, maybe, maybe you **_**really **_**need to get laid."**

So now here he is, left alone to search for the right words. Why, he's not making any effort to render his discomposure more subtle—

"N-no further questions, your—"

"—now, now, you're not just about to suspend this exhilarating part of the hearing, are you, Szayel?"

It's Stark.

"You and Cuatro have lost this case, Stark. Give it a rest already." Szayel answers back adamantly. Me and failure. That's some combination I haven't heard in awhile. Funny.

"Have I, really? Let's have one thing straight here; you have filed a complaint against my client, after which you duly, and wrongly for that matter, categorized his attempts under harassment, and now here he is, with nothing but sincerity to offer, laying bare his original intent that is _broadening his sexual horizons__._ _Where's _the malignity in that?"

"A-are you serious, Stark?" Szayel is gawking incredulously at my lawyer, his bewilderment going overboard. Please—

"Yes. Isn't that a pure, INNOCENT exploration? A path to self-discovery? Don't tell me you don't practice it yourself. Come on, who are you fooling? You've done it on me—"

"—unsuccessfully so! But the manner by which he tried to achieve such, Stark—surely, you don't subscribe to this _baloney_. He was trying to wreak his molesting tendencies on Grimmjow, no more, no less. Besides, my client suffered a few emotional complications after the event, something that pertains to dignity. As such, we _can't _just overlook that fact now, can we? The end justifies the means. Damage was done—"

"—so you're saying now that _your _chronic barging into my room unannounced is a heinous crime that should be _punished_? Are you sure you yourself are not simply trying to unravel sexual thrills? Perhaps I should enumerate the number of times you've tried to wrench my Hakama from me?" Stark finishes, his mouth abandoned to the mercy of a simple bliss.

In conclusion, both sides have played their strongest cards. Even so, we reign triumphant. I guess I should now consign everything to silence. After all, what use would there be in speaking further? We've won this, and, no, this claim has not come prematurely.

"You all can just fucking _die_ now, you perverts."

It's Grimmjow.

Stark strides forward to regain the spotlight, thereby assuring everyone that Grimmjow's hopes of a comeback lie dead. Stark speaks, "You must understand, Grimmjow, that Ulquiorra had NO intentions of malice when he—"

"No, I think what _you _sorry lot don't fucking understand is, I _don't _care about his intentions, his mental and sentimental justifications, and just about any sick defense his twisted mind is coming up with. What you should fucking concern yourselves about is the fact that I fucking didn't like what he pulled on me because, if you look at it in its most ordinary sense, HE FUCKING TRIED TO RAPE ME." Grimmjow snarls at my attorney.

"Is that so? So you didn't like it one bit? Come on, man. You? Saying 'no' to Cuatro Espada? Just look at him! Chicks are breaking their necks trying to get a shot of him! Denials, denials."

Stark is a raving lunatic _waiting to happen_.

Sure enough, Sexta Espada steadies himself before blaring at Stark in a scandalous volume, "Oh yeah, you can perfectly relate because deep inside, in the fucking deepest crevices of your fucking mind and in the behest of your raging hormones, I mean if you had been paying attention to your goddamn mind _forever _ago, you'd realize that your days are most profusely spent waiting for Octava Espada to fucking finally get his dick shoved in your goddamn throat!"

Really, his hysterics are reaching unreasonable heights.

But Szayel tugs on his client's sleeves to indiscreetly voice his correction, "Grimmjow, it's the other way around; I want his dick shoved—"

"ENOUGH!" Liuetenant Tousen bellows. I have forgotten where we have been standing all the while. Slowly, we descend back to our wits, as he continues disgustedly, "All four of you, Grimmjow Jaggerjack, Ulquiorra Scheiffer, Szayel Apollo Grantz and Stark, I am sentencing you to a week of Penitential Incarceration for your unacceptable, deplorable, detestable, abominable, despicable, unspeakable, hideously disagreeable behavior!" He thunders at us four Espada. We shrink back from his volume.

Shit is going to happen. This is all their fault, all three of them morons; Szayel, Grimmjow, and Stark—

"This is all your fucking fault." The three tell me.

...

So. We're in this tiny chamber now, all four of us 8th, 6th, 4th, and 1st Espada.

"If you had just fucking asked me out instead we wouldn't be holed up in this fucking shit hole." Sexta Espada hisses at me.

"**Where's the sexual thrill in that?"**

"Fuck you."

"**Would you?"**

Grimmjow swallows hard.

"Later, when we get outta here."

Stark and Szayel are as silent as cobblestones in the far corner of the room, their faces a mere half a foot apart.

"So you subscribe to Ulquiorra's expanding sexual horizon's bullshit?" Octava Espada asks Stark.

"Yeah. Got a problem with that?"

"Want me to do that on you?"

"You'll fail; I've seen you do it a hundred times…failing, that is."

"Well then will you let me?"

"Let you what?"

"Fuck you?"

Stark looks away,

"Later, when we get outta here."

**END**


End file.
